In My Favorite Tree
by supervilliangirl
Summary: Charles doesn't make a habit of getting stuck in trees, but it certainly does make summer more interesting. Kid!Cherik Modern-day AU, no powers


Prompt: from robinwinghood: Charles gets stuck up a tree.

Note(s): I decided to make this into a kid Cherik modern-day depowered AU, hope that's okay!  
Uh, so I rushed to finish this to get it up. Hope it's still enjoyable! I may come back and edit it! This took me several hours that I should have been sleeping instead of writing, but I really wanted to finish this piece. It is my first finished Cherik work.

Please excuse any errors, I was half asleep whilst writing this.  
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The air is filled with summer.

School has just let out barely a week ago, and the excitement of a few whole months off of school still thrums through the tiny hands and feet of children only just beginning their academic career. The whole wide expanse of it stretches out before them, seemingly endless and forever on-going. No more being dragged out of bed early by the shriek of an alarm clock, or messy peanut butter and jelly sandwiches smeared across the inside of lunch boxes.

It's a time of freedom and fun and bug bites and sun screen never quite applied right-

And little Charles Xavier fears that he's going to be spending the majority of it stuck in a tree.

His fear is not necessarily uncalled for, either. He's sure that he's been stuck in the high arms of the branches for a few hours, at least, although time to a child isn't really up to par with that of an adult. It could have been five, fifty, three hundred and fifty minutes. However long it's been, his body aches from it and he clings to the trunk and has had his legs wrapped around his branch for who knows how long.

Now, Charles was a very intelligent little boy, and knew that one shouldn't begin something that they cannot finish. Usually, this is a rule that he abides by, and if he had known from the get-go that he wouldn't have been able to scramble back down the wide girth of this monstrosity, he most certainly would not have done so.

He had been goaded by his senior-by-a-few-years stepbrother Cain and his friends, taunted with names such as chicken and other dastardly things that no self respecting just-graduated-from-first-grade-er would subject to being called.

Charles had always loved the tree, and with good reason. It was a grand old thing, although not as big as some of the others residing upon the Xavier grounds. It had been there ever since Charles could remember, and he knew that he would cry if it was ever cut down. Many a day he would sit curled up against its trunk, the firm body and beginning of roots cradling him as he read or drew or did other things that many boys his age did not.

Out of a certain sense of respect for it he had never attempted to climb to its high end (although he had never climbed any tree before, so perhaps it was simply am excuse).

With all the false bravado of one trying to prove themselves Charles had accepted their challenge, tilting his chin up in a hope to seem confident.

Since he was so tiny, even for his age, two of the stronger boys had to help him up to reach the first branch. They had pushed up unevenly, one boosting him more than the other. It had made for a very lopsided sort of step-ladder, and he had almost been sent careening off of their shoulders.  
At first it had hurt to grab onto the rough bark, to haul all of his weight up using only his arms. Teeth gritted against the sensation of skin being scraped off of tender palms, he had pulled until he was on the first and lowest branch, which was still fairly high.

Not daring to look down-at the mocking faces of the boys and the staggering height from the ground, he scrambles up the tree, knees knocking against the hard wood, face banging sometimes against the rough skin of it. Behind him he hears the catcalls of his tormentors below, calling him things such as "squirrel boy" and "pansy". There are all sorts of other unflattering things thrown at him that make his cheeks flush in shame, cheeks high with the cherry red color.

When he stops to collapse on a branch he finds with dismay that he isn't even halfway up it. Surely he had climbed higher, further than that. His arms feel like jelly and he aches everywhere. Sweat is a fine sheen across his forehead and pools at the small of his back, his clothing sticking and itching. Certainly discomfort is present, but there is also a certain type of pain. Muscles that he has never used before in his pursuit of the academic are suddenly straining with exercise they have never been given.

"You're not at the top yet, Charlie-boy!" It's the nasal voice of ones of Cain's lackeys, picked up in a whooping chorus. Charles is suddenly glad that Raven is gone for the day with one of their relatives-surely she would have tried to fight all the boys off, although she herself is barely turned five. She would be all fists and flying blond curls, determination and rage all pent up in one little neat package. Of course, the older boys would not hit her because of her age and gender, but they would surely mock him even more if his little sister was the one to come to his rescue.

He wants to ask them why-what point could this whole endeavor possibly prove?

Even if he had wanted to ask them, his stomach rudely interrupts by growling loudly. Breakfast was hours ago, and sure the maids will be calling them in for a midday meal soon.

Laughter, loud and obnoxious, shotguns out of the group of boys, and they practically howl with their glee. If possible, the blush crawls ever further downwards, traveling down the pale length of Charles's neck. At this point in time he could only be more mortified if Cain suddenly remember his middle name.

Evidently, his stomach is not wrong in its want for food, for there is a yell with its origins inside the house, calling them inside to have lunch.

The promise of food makes the boys suddenly forget about their pastime of tormenting, and they race each other to reach nourishment first.

"Uh-uh hello?" Is called after them, although none seem to heed the slightly strangled cry. Being tortured is better than being abandoned.

And that is how he has wound up in his current situation, high above the ground and with an aching bum.

He had tried to slide down slowly, but at the last moment his heart would pound and he would scramble back to his original position. Swallowing was made hard by the sensation of having what felt like cotton in his mouth, and his hands, scratched red and raw, twitched nervously.

Raven's arrival is heard by all before she is seen-this is rather typical though. From his perch he can see globs of color at the front gate, and her pink dress is easy enough to distinguish.

"Charles!" She cries, and he's sure that she's cupping her hands around her mouth to magnify the sound. It's a trick that she's just learned ("All by myself!") and is incredibly proud of.

Carefully, he weighs the pros and cons of calling her attention to himself. Surely it would do nothing more than to worry her, since she has no more expertise in climbing trees than he and is much smaller. It would only add undue stress, and he doesn't want to bother her so…

The option is taken out of his hands when the person next to her (who he is fairly certain he doesn't know) seems to gesture in his direction. Several heads taller than his sister the figure seems to be, although he can't make out much more than that. And brown, the color brown, broken up by small splotches of pale.

The ever-energetic Raven, clearly having had seen him now, breaks off into a run towards him (although not before pausing to say something to the person beside her). With some dismay Charles observes that she does not have her shoes on, the ones with the tiny gold buckles and shine in the sun.

"Charles, Charles!" His name is a chant, called out by the high voice. The figure that had been with her also approaches, although at a much more leisurely walk.

"What are you doing up there?" Is her question when she finally stops in front of him, breathing hard and looking flustered. Her hair is half out of its plaits now, and Charles knows that she prefers it as such. Hopefully there are no green stains from the grass upon her skirts, but he has little hope.

"Just, er, admiring the view a bit."

"You're so weird, Charles." With a crinkled nose she struck a pose of authority, which, while not very affective, was quite hilarious to witness. "Why don't you come down from there? I want you to meet Erik."

Erik-that must have been the name of the slowly approaching boy, looks wary. His pale eyes are slightly wide, as if he had gotten the exact opposite out of what he had expected of this situation. The boy is all long limbs and gawky-news, although he's sure it's the type that his aunt says "children grow out of". There is hair flopping in front of his face, a mousy-dishwater shade of brown. All in all, there nothing remarkable about him.

"He just moved in with his aunt and uncle at the mansion down the road. He doesn't talk much, but I think he's nice enough." At this he can't hold back a chuckle. She's always saying exactly what she thinks, no matter how other people may take offense to it.

"Hello there," Charles half waggles his fingers, trying to smile brightly. He hopes to make a good first impression if this is going to be their neighbor.

"Erik's from Germany-isn't that so cool, Charles?" By this point Raven is bouncing with excitement, but that's probably more because its something new and exciting and less to do with any knowledge of the country itself.

He nods blithely to please her, now eyeing the guest with interest. Germany is rather far away from Westchester, and Raven hasn't mentioned any parents as of yet. Prying is not a thing he'll do though, because it is rude and if Erik wants him to know about the intimate details of his life he will tell him personally. Hopefully.

"Why are you up there?" The sentence is slightly stilted, as if the taller boy his unsure about how to make the words come out. They are roughened with an accent, and it becomes apparent that he has been speaking German much longer than English-which isn't surprising, all and all. It comes out clear enough to understand, though, and the confused look on his face and glance at the branches is indication of his meaning as well.

"Yeah, come down here. I heard you missed lunch, and I want to play hide-and-go-seek!" The ever changing whimsies of those below schooling age baffles Charles sometimes-last week Raven had been begging him to play marbles every second.

"Well…you see…that may be a bit of a problem," he concedes, wiggling on his bracing for further emphasis. Feeling has begun to leave his bottom and thighs, and he flexes his fingers to keep them from doing the same. Tiny wells of blood dot his palm, most done all of the bleeding that they would have done.

"What is that supposed to mean?! You're just being stubborn! You don't want to play with me!" Of course, it would be brought back around to her. When young, the whole world seemed to revolve around one's self.

Before Charles could say another word in defense she stomped off, pointing her nose dramatically in the air like she had seen a cousin of theirs do (not as ridiculously, of course) when she had been offended.

Both boys stared after her, blinking owlishly at her easy frustration.

When Charles looked back down he saw that he was being studied by the German boy with the thick accent, making a quick study of him and his appearance. Charles hoped he didn't look as rumpled as he felt, and tried to straighten out his sweater a bit.

"Do you mean you are…stuck?" Oh, it felt so good to not have to say it aloud himself. Having Erik ask made it feel less like possibly asking for help and more like accepting a kind offer.  
"Yes, quite stuck." Nodding earnestly, he hoped that was asked so that Erik could help him.  
Erik didn't ask anymore questions-how or why never crossed his lips.

Walking to stand in front of it he seemed to asses it first, fingers tapping contemplatively against one of his thighs. He circled the tree twice before coming to a stop right underneath an ordinary looking enough branch-and jumped.

That is when he realized that he was more than a bit taller than Charles, about the same height (or taller) as Cain's lackeys. There isn't nearly the same amount of meat on his bones as there are on them though, and the other boy wonders when the last time he ate was.

For all of his skinniness, Erik is surprisingly strong. With seemingly no effort he is climbing up the same limbs of the tree that had given Charles so much trouble earlier, and it's obvious that he has done this before.

Before he knows it the boy is right below him, and looking up questioningly. "Come down?" He offers, hand hovering above the branch.

Charles nods eagerly, glad to escape the confines of the tree. The sun is starting to set, and he doubts it would be very safe up here in the dark.

The hesitant hand clamps down upon the branch and then strains as he swings himself up to sit beside the younger boy.

Charles's breath catches in his throat, and it isn't because of the sudden proximity of the boy beside him.

He's heard about how beautiful sunsets are, about how gorgeous and brilliant. Before, he's never found them all that interesting.

Now, now, it's like he's close enough to touch it, chase the colors with his fingertips-the golds, the purples, the reds. A thousand skittles are scattered across the sky, the canvas of a young child, random and in no particular pattern.

"Can we…can I watch the sun set?" He asks, not even bothering to look at his companion. He's fixated on the sunset, the vibrant splashes of light cutting ragged designs in the sky.

Erik is silent, and he takes it as a "yes." Perhaps it's because he can't find the right words, or maybe because he's as equally as stunned by the view. Either way, he gets no response.

That's alright, because Charles is no longer worrying about his limbs falling asleep and the cruel pranks of his stepbrother and the rowdiness of his sister-he's enjoying the warmth at his side and the beautiful sight before his eyes.

Turning his head the slightest bit, trying not to be obvious, he tries to see Erik's expression.  
His attempt at stealth is unsuccessful, but that'd rather okay with Charles, because he's met with a brilliant smile.

Charles has a feeling that this summer will be the best one yet.


End file.
